1000 Deaths

Years ago, after losing my best friend to breast cancer I read a book called Mourning into Dancing, by Walter Wangerein. I read it again after losing another best friend. I think it is time to re-read it. It is a book about grief.

I have realized on my cancer journey that I was taught very early in life about grief. Unfortunately, what I was taught was untrue. As a young 3 year old I lost my closest in age brother to an institution because he was severely mentally disabled and partially physically handicapped. Just two months after that I lost my 36 year old father to a massive heart attack. In all the grief, I then lost my mother who like many surviving parents, just shut down emotionally. I share this because what I was taught was that my grief is not allowed, unjustified, and minimal. I don't blame my mom, who was doing the best she could.

While in therapy in Florida at Hippocrates Institute, however, I was asked what would I say to my three year old self? At first, I didn't know what to say. Then as I imagined what I would say to my precious grandchildren age 3 and 5 it all came to me.

I would say it is ok to cry, and I would cry with her, and it is ok to be really sad, and it is ok to be angry about the hurt, and it is ok to just hurt. I would say I loved her and that I would stay with her and that we would be sad together, until we could be happy together.

I find myself saying the same things to my present day self because this 50 something adult still really hasn't learned that it is OK to grieve for herself, and for her losses.

In any serious illness, cancer being one of the big ones, there are so many deaths you LIVE through. So many losses and today I am trying to give myself permission to be sad.

I am sad about the "loss" of another summer, my favorite time of year. Sad about the prospect of another surgical procedure to install a port in my body. I'm sad about the prospect of losing my hair. I'm sad about restrictions on travel due to chemotherapy schedules that make seeing my kids and grandkids so difficult . I'm sad about the extra burdens on Gilbert and my staff with a reduction in my productivity. I'm sad about not being able to walk freely in the sunshine. I'm sad about the prospect of many months of treatment. I'm sad about feeling that for the moment all the fun is being sucked right out of me. I'm sad about the feelings of isolation because folks don't know what to say or what to feed us.

Will you forgive my somewhat public grief as I learn how to be sad.

And remember when you don't know what to say, just calling or texting to say you don't know what to say is the perfect thing to say.

Thanks for standing with me, grief shared is less painful, I think...this is what I am learning.